


Possible

by SgtMac



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: And their kid making stuff happen, F/F, Idiots in Love, Swan Mills Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SgtMac/pseuds/SgtMac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So he'd said quietly, "Don't let her go again." And told Mom the same thing the morning that she'd been released from the hospital; he'd been serious, unwavering, unwilling to see them like this.</p><p>They're his mothers, his strength. His proof that anything is possible.</p><p>If an Evil Queen like Mom can find redemption and love, and if a Savior who has fallen as much as Ma has can open up her heart again and forgive not only others but herself, then anything is possible, and he has to believe that that means that the two of them finding a way to make this love story of theirs work is possible as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible

**Author's Note:**

> SQ established. Swan-Mills family. It’s always push-pull until it can’t be.
> 
> A bit angsty and then really sweet - a low dialogue SQ turning point from Henry’s POV.

He's fifteen years old now, and damned far from the idealistic little boy with floppy brown hair and bright green eyes who had once upon a time jumped on a bus and made his way to Boston. He's fifteen and thanks to everything he's seen and everyone he's lost, he not quite the truest believer anymore. Oh he knows that Mom would argue that point (and Ma probably would as well, but with that understanding she has that pretending doesn't actually make things real) but he thinks that she'll be doing that when he's thirty and has children of his own. Still, he's not a kid, and he has a fair idea about a lot of things - has a fair idea that there are things like good and evil in the world and sometimes evil actually does win. And he knows about things like sex. Not that he's had it yet, but he understands it well enough.

For example, he knows what it means when the bedroom door is closed.

He knows that when the door to the room that his mothers have shared for the last year (off and on and then off again…he thinks that they're on right now, but there are always so many arguments about unnecessary risks and doing "stupid idiotic" things and they can never quite seem to get it all put together and it seems like every time they are actually on the same page, one of them gets scared about it looks like maybe they could actually work out and tries to burn it all down again) is closed, that usually means that they're in the middle of something that he'd rather not think much about.

And by too much…not at all.

After all, understanding sex and the mechanics and turn-ons of it (he's seen magazines, and there was that movie...) and actually seeing your mothers doing stuff like that? Not the same and not something he prefers to do if he can avoid it. Unfortunately for him, there have been times when he'd been unable to avoid it.

Times when he'd been thoughtless and unthinking and too focused on the jumbles in his own mind to stop himself from pushing the door open and...

Brain-bleach and the names of dead presidents and hey maybe Leroy and how about Granny or...no, brain bleach...well, there isn't enough.

Not enough to block out what he'd seen.

Ugh.

Anyway, those traumatic experiences have taught him that when the door is closed like it is now, he should stay as far away from their room as he can.

Or suffer the consequences.

It's a good rule to live by. An easy one to follow, usually.

Just…not tonight.

Tonight...tonight, it's worth the risk.

Because three evenings ago, he'd heard Ma screaming for Mom, her voice breaking in the middle as they'd all watched Mom get lifted into the air by some invisible magical force. He'd seen the bright red blood dripping down Mom's from her nose as her eyes had bulged and her throat had tightened, and then he'd heard the shattering of glass and the cracking of bone when she'd been thrown the window of the hardware store behind her; he'd seen the way she'd fallen.

Seen the way her head had lolled back and her dark brown hair had taken on shades of red.

But she's alive…she's alive. He tells himself this now as he's told himself these same words a hundred and fifty times over the last three days – he thinks he'll tell himself it a hundred and fifty more times, and even then he might not completely believe. Because Mom and Ma – they do this. They stand tall and they act like heroes and they shout at the bad guys to come and get them so that whatever evil it is won't go for anyone else and they don't seem to ever think about what kind of hurt would be left behind them if they were to never open their eyes again.

What kind of heartbreak…

Henry swallows, his green eyes on the closed bedroom door, his heart pounding.

He's honestly at this moment not afraid especially of what he'll find in there – sex is nothing compared to what he'd seen three nights ago; a jumble of mom-related limbs and muttered sexual profanities is nothing compared to the blood and pain and fear that he'd seen spilling out everywhere.

It almost seems stupid to even be afraid of seeing...what he'd seen between his mothers after the horror of three nights ago.

After Mom had almost died.

Again.

Ma has almost died a dozen times over as well.

God.

They can't keep doing this. _They can't._

He wonders if they even realize just how much they're fighting the same fears all the while creating the same problems.

No, he figures, probably not.

As Henry steps closer to the door, he thinks about how after Mom had been thrown through the window, their enemy – some kind of mage from a different world (Narnia, maybe? He can't recall and doesn't really care) had turned his attention to the rest of the group, meaning to kill them so he could lay claim to all of the magic within Storybrooke. But well, he'd messed with the wrong family as everyone who takes them on eventually finds out for themselves.

Grandpa had joined Ma (who had gone from teaming up with Mom to use magic against the mage - an effort which had largely failed thanks to special protections the mage had had in place) and then they'd started using bullets, firing at the wizard rapidly and eventually, with smoke pouring out of him and entirely too many holes in him, he'd fallen to the ground, his shield which had protected him from magic broken by lead.

And then Grandma had held Mom in her arms while Ma had pleaded with her to open her eyes, Ma's shaking hands clutching at Mom's ashy cheeks as she'd poured as much bright and white healing magic into Mom as she could; eventually, Mom had gasped and looked up at them, the blood on her face and in her hair (tangling it, making it look sticky and red) upsetting him more than he cares to think about; because there'd been so much of it. Because it'd been hers.

Because the older that Henry Daniel Mills gets – the more he sees about the fairness and inherent unfairness of life - the easier it is to see how quickly everything can be lost – how normal and yet devastating it is for someone to close their eyes and never open them again.

She had opened them, though, and she'd said his name and then looked up at Emma and Emma had leaned down and kissed her hard, saying something like, "You don't get to do that."

She'd held her lips there, and Grandma and Grandpa had both sighed in relief (a bit of a weird visual, he'll think later, to see Ma kissing Mom while Mom rests in Grandma's lap). When Ma had finally broken away, her hands hadn't left Mom's face, white magic still pouring into her

Mom had smiled warmly up at Emma, something bright shining there even in spite of her obvious pain and exhaustion. Unable to lift her head, she'd whispered, "I think I need to see a doctor," and it'd probably been a "no shit" moment as Emma likes to call them except for the fact that none of them can remember another time when Mom has ever asked for one. The truth is, she's usually the one making grand excuses (a reason for some of the fights that have happened between she and Emma) for not ever accepting any kind of medical assistance.

So her asking for it…well, that'd been how they'd all known just how hurt she was. That's how they'd known just how afraid she'd been – by the softness of her words, and the way that she'd reached out for Henry's hand even as Ma had continued to touch her and push healing magic into her. He'd seen Mom looking at him, her eyes trying to say so much in case…just in case.

Ma had exhausted the rest of her magic by pulling everyone close, and transporting them all directly to the hospital, apparently unwilling to take any chances. The moment they'd arrived, she'd stumbled forward from fatigue, but kept enough of herself aware to call out for help.

They'd taken her into the OR immediately, disappearing behind thick doors; later, Whale had told them all that the head injury especially had been serious (he'd laughed and made some kind of crack about how it's amazing she has anything left in that "pretty little head of hers" considering how many times she's bashed it in and well…Ma and Grandpa had almost lunged at him, but thankfully Grandma had stepped forward and started asking other questions), but he and his nurses had stopped the bleeding and she'd be just fine; Ma's healing magic had reduced the damage and kept Mom alive long enough for medical assistance to take care of the rest.

Ma had exhaled and then laughed in this weird kind of almost crying way, and Henry had thought to himself, "Enough of this." Enough of his family not being happy just…because.

He knows it's not that simple, not at all that easy, but he thinks maybe when the only thing keeping two people who very much love each other apart is fear, well that's just not okay.

So he'd said quietly, "Don't let her go again." And told Mom the same thing the morning that she'd been released from the hospital; he'd been serious, unwavering, unwilling to see them like this.

They're his mothers, his strength. His proof that anything is possible.

If an Evil Queen like Mom can find redemption and love, and if a Savior who has fallen as much as Ma has can open up her heart again and forgive not only others but herself, then anything is possible, and he has to believe that that means that the two of them finding a way to make this love story of theirs work is possible as well.

He looks down the hallway again, looks at the closed bedroom door.

And steps closer.

He knows better.

Because he has pushed the door open before and there are things he wishes he could un-see.

But the one thing that he can't un-see is Mom with blood in her hair and on her face and Ma touching Mom's cheeks, her thumbs brushing over her closed eyelids, pleading, whispering…

He doesn't want to un-see the way Mom had looked up at Ma, that smile on her face after she'd opened her eyes, so tired and yet so happy to have someone there to care if she did come back.

So full of love for Emma.

So accepting of the same from Emma.

These two…well, Mom always calls Ma an idiot, but he thinks maybe they're both that.

Hopefully, it's out of their systems now.

He pushes the door open, and looks in; the room is quiet and dark, but there's light from the street shining in through the window and he can see the bed – he can see them on it together.

Mom wrapped around Ma, arms around her, her cheek flush with Mom's.

Holding her. Protecting her.

Mom turns. Slowly, the blankets shifting and crinkling. He starts to move back.

And instead finds himself watching as Mom turns to face Ma; there are no words said between the two of them but he knows they're looking at each other. He watches as Mom leans up and lightly kisses Ma – it lasts just a few seconds and then Mom is pressing her head against Ma's shoulder and they're tangling together. Not moving, just being together. Safe and here.

Henry very quietly closes the door behind him.

-Fin


End file.
